


Paragon

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: While watching Bono sleep, Edge finds himself somewhat inspired.Set in present day.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> This is Jana's fault. Jana, who mentioned she had no fic ideas, and when I came up with a fic idea - this fic idea - she laughed and then allowed me to cruelly take it away from her. But I had to. I'm not even sorry, this was too much fun. It's crack and stupid, but I needed to write it, and there's so few present day fics, so here we are. I hope you...enjoy?

Stretched out over white sheets, Bono looked so comfortable and peaceful that Edge couldn’t stand to wake him. Though he had to admit he’d thought about it, for so long that he’d been well on his way to veering straight on into creeper territory, and if Bono knew how many times Edge had found himself on such a path - 

Well, he would probably be flattered, certainly a bit too cocky about the whole thing, with a sidelong grin as he watched Edge for the next few days, wearing his tightest jeans and a tighter attitude, all, “Admit it, you still think I’m sexy.”

“I’m not going to play this game with you, B.”

“Watching me sleep,  _ naked _ , Edge? I mean, it’s completely scandalous! Who knew you were such a pervert?”

“You did.”

“Damn right I did.”

And it wasn’t sad that Edge knew exactly how the conversation would go, if and when Bono ever caught him leering at his pasty white arse from the threshold, because no matter how much of a gentleman Edge thought himself to be, he had serious doubts about how gentlemanly he looked when presented with such a thing, no matter how many times he’d been been allowed to play with it over the years. The look in his eye might have been flattering, sure - sometimes, yes - but other times there were thoughts in his mind that took his view-set straight on down toward the gutter, and during such a time he couldn’t help but assume he resembled one of those lecherous old men that were found in a dive bar at three am, a world away from the  _ man takes in piece of art and approves _ sort of gaze that Bono’s arse so clearly deserved.

“Watching me sleep,  _ naked _ , Edge? Admit it, you still think I’m sexy,” Bono would say, proud, vain and a little unsure.

And Edge would have to respond, “Of course I do,” trying to hide his smile as Bono let his shine for the entire world to see, though at such a time it was for Edge and Edge alone, and he would watch Bono flutter his feathers like the proud peacock he so desperately wanted to be, waiting for the perfect moment to add, “Baby, those rare times when you’re asleep and not talking is when I’m attracted to you the most,” because no matter how much he wanted to make Bono happy, Edge still just couldn’t help himself.

Twenty or so years ago or even ten years ago he might have awoken Bono with a whispered idea, or maybe a cup of coffee, black and strong to prepare him for what was about to go down. Twenty or ten years ago Edge knew they might still have been awake at such a time, drunk on life or otherwise as they welcomed a new day the best way they knew how. 

And it was strange what sort of memories came rushing back when you least expected, strange and a little bittersweet, but on one of those mornings, a random morning at least twenty years gone, Edge could recall Bono laughing, shaking his head a little as he told Edge to shush. It had almost been like he’d been embarrassed to hear such a thing, when all Edge had done was tell him exactly how he had looked on such a morning.

“I’m not sexy, Edge, I’m hot,” he had said, or something close to it, Edge couldn’t quite remember, but after a lifetime of hearing Bono spew such inane little phrases, he figured it was close enough.

It was amazing how time could change so many things. And it was amazing how many things stayed the same, no matter how much time had passed. There were many thoughts Edge might have had on such a matter, and on any other time he might have delved deep into more philosophical musings, but on such a morning he found himself unable to properly focus on anything but what was right in front of him.

From the threshold he watched Bono sleep, stretched out over white sheets, butt-naked and blissfully unaware, and he couldn’t keep the lecherous thoughts at bay. After so many years, he supposed such notions could almost be considered romantic - in a twisted sort of way, and, actually, no - but, on the other hand, they were dirty as sin and he couldn’t quite believe himself sometimes. And it wasn’t just the thoughts of _what could be_ running through his mind, no, it was memories of what had once been, ideas of what should have been, and musings on the things that would never be - not in a million years so don’t even go there, and he didn’t even have to ask to know Bono’s reaction, he just knew, and if the Bono in his mind was judging him so badly for the kinky little acts that appeared at such a delicate time . . .

. . .who was he kidding? Bono, the real Bono, the one that wasn’t on quite as high of a pedestal, was probably just as bad. Worse. Edge could only imagine the shit that raced through his frenzied mind at such a time. 

And he did. Imagined it, in detail, as he took two steps into the bedroom, keeping his gaze fixed on Bono as he shuffled on towards the en suite, until he just had to look away. 

After shutting the door behind him, he reached into the shower and turned the _hot_ tap as far as it could go before going to stand in front of the mirror. Why? He wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a thought in his mind, half baked and a little bit odd, but it involved steam - lots of it - and a keen eye, fixed on himself until he could no longer stand to look. 

It wasn’t vain, because he wasn’t vain, it was just one of those things, and maybe he would laugh about it afterward, or maybe forget about it all in an hour, who knew? He certainly didn’t, and neither did his reflection. No, from the looks of things, his reflection knew basically one single thing at such a time, with that look in his eye that said  _ I deserve this, don’t I? _

Maybe. Possibly. Probably not, but he was doing it anyway, with a flick of a finger and then a firm pinch, tight until it wasn’t quite pain, wasn’t quite pleasure, but it was something  _ good _ , and with his cheeks flushed and that look in his eye - was it desire? was it desperation? - Edge found himself wondering if this is what they saw, when they looked at him - and it was desire then, he could never doubt that.

Stepping inside the shower, he turned the  _ hot  _ tap down from scalding and the  _ cold  _ tap just a tad, until he was enveloped in a warmth such as the one he sought out constantly late at night, early in the morning, on white sheets or under them, and always with someone’s blinding smile. 

From thought to thought he strayed, each one not quite enough; maybe too much, and twelve feet and through the wall away was where he wanted to be, stretched out on white sheets and desperate, wanting, needing -  _ always baby, always  _ \- with a firm hand he took himself close. So close, and then not close enough, backing off until it was a slow burn that caught in his throat and tingled at his fingertips. Too much of a good thing was dangerous, he’d heard time and time again, and he thought of those times, thought of anything else that might keep it going because he was selfish. Today he was selfish, but he just wanted to make it last, as much as it burned, as much as his skin burned and his heart pounded from the heat, the steam and everything else, he just wanted to make it last. Until . . . until -

_ So, you know when you’re getting close and you want to make it last - and don’t even pretend like you don’t do that all the time, Edge, look at who you’re talking to - do you ever find yourself thinking about how you share a name with such an act? _

_. . .well, I fucking will now, won’t I? _

_ Maybe not every time. But I’ll know if you start smiling.  _

_ I won’t be smiling, you bastard. _

He couldn’t help but smile, and it was most distracting. No, no he couldn’t get distracted, not when he was so close, so fucking -

And away it went, just out of reach until he was close to desperate, close to doing anything,  _ anything  _ to just get there and have it all over, but it wasn’t enough. It slipped away, leaving him wanting to yell, wanting to try harder, wanting to go out there and awaken Bono - _ this is your fault, you know!  _ \- but before he could do anything, the shower door was opening.

Bono emerged looking rumpled and not quite awake, looking like he was in need of a long, hot shower and maybe so much more, but Edge couldn’t quite find it in himself to make any such suggestion. He just watched, a little wide eyed, a little frantic, with his cock in his hand as he waited for Bono to properly announce himself in such a way that he deemed appropriate for the occasion.

“You’re taking too long,” Bono grumbled. It wasn’t quite what Edge had expected, though it was something he had heard so many times over the years that it had stopped registering as an actual complaint. “There are people in this world who  _ wish  _ they had access to even a litre of the water you’ve been wasting in here, you naughty boy.” 

That was more like it. That, and the look in Bono’s eyes, squinting against the steam and still a little sleep addled, but blazing nonetheless, and when he dropped to his knees and batted away a fading hand, Edge thought that it was one of the sexiest things he had seen in quite some time.    
  



End file.
